OK GUYS. ENJIOY. DON'T FREAK OUT. Also - please please please know. While I enjoy researching, I didn't exactly want to be on any watchlist because of the weird google search. So - suspend disbelief. i tried to make it realistic.
PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.
Isabelle stood in the Situation Room. How people could sit in the room, the place where they only were if things had escalated to a serious extent, she would never know. The table was crowded with devices and papers. Nothing about the space was reserved. This was the extreme.
Words flew around her fast. Something that had taken Isabelle a few minutes to get used to the first time she'd been in there.
Now, she just fell into the horrific chaos that enveloped the room.
At the moment, she had one purpose – find the uranium.
Well, perhaps two. Try as much as possible to keep the secret without endangering the first purpose.
Gordon, pouring over incoming reports and intelligence, said, "With the intel that they might have been building the bomb four to five hours away from that compound, we've created a radius of what could be traveled by foot in that amount of time."
Isabelle looked at the map up on the screen. "And with the target being American soldiers, what army targets are within that space?"
"Three." Came Admiral Hill's response.
She still had Emma's interrogation in her ear.
And she said into the microphone, "We need to get some idea of the location."
Isabelle was amazed at how quickly she trusted Emma to figure out how to do that. Because Isabelle turned her attention back into the room.
"Comparing the radius given by the asset with the time-frame of the uranium being stolen."
Isabelle nodded at Jay's insight.
Ellen said, "We're comparing drone footage, perhaps hoping to identify some hotspots around the three bases."
"Any increased traffic?" Secretary of State Thompson asked. And then she added, "After meeting with the Iranian Ambassador, I don't think it's state endorsed."
"Who knows." Gordon said.
Isabelle walked along the length of the room, her mind putting the different parts of the situation and arranging them like puzzle pieces. The uranium being stolen had three prongs – who took it – where was it at – and where was it going. The "who took it" fit into the piece with Shaaban's name on it – which was connected to another piece with Milad's name on it. Both pieces connected to Amira's piece. There had to be a piece missing. A few. She tried over and over to think about what those missing pieces could be.
"We've got something on the ground." Gordon said, putting a screen showing the arial view from a drone, which was picking up a weak heat sensor. As the drone descended, she could hear chirping and beeping coming from microphones around her.
"Body." Came the word just as the camera got close enough to detect.
And then alarms started going off, and the drone immediately pulled up and away.
"What's happening?" Jay asked.
Ellen and Gordon both exchanged looks. And then said, "Detections of high traces of radioactivity."
"Shit." Jay said, leaning back in his chair.
The room was quiet for a second, until Gordon said, "Recent. Which means we're close. But that means they have been able to convert it into something they can cause damage with. Significant."
Isabelle begged the bile to stay in her stomach.
The chatter over the microphone on her phone into her ear drew her back to the feed on her phone.
"… when you got to the bunker area?" Emma asked, and Isabelle tried to keep up with the language difference.
And the girl's response was delayed. Thoughtful. "I think…" And Isabelle noticed the girl shifting in her seat again. "… I just remember the really loud airplanes. So loud."
To Ellen and Gordon, Isabelle loudly asked, "All those bases, do they all have airstrips?"
"Yes." Gordon said, his attention on the screen in front of him, following drone footage.
Into the microphone, Isabelle said, "Planes night and day, or just day?"
Ellen turned and looked at her. Her eyes widening. Waiting.
Isabelle had to wait for Emma to translate it, wait for Amira to answer, and for Isabelle's brain to translate it.
All day and night.
"All day and night." Isabelle said to Ellen.
Ellen whipped around to her computer. "Well, we have two bases. But two of them only get planes during the day, due to flight restrictions in those areas."
"Yes." Isabelle said, both into the microphone and the room. And the puzzle piece of where fit. "Which base?"
"Camp Justice."
Isabelle's heart sunk.
And just at that moment the door to the Situation Room opened, and Elizabeth walked in.
Everyone who wasn't already standing started to stand to their feet. Normally, Elizabeth called them off, but now, Elizabeth didn't tell them to sit down until she was at the head of the table. Facing the screen, Elizabeth asked, "Where are we at?"
Isabelle tried not to read into the tone Elizabeth was using. This was, after all, a serious situation.
But Isabelle had watched her friend in tough situations like this one. And something. Something about Elizabeth's tense shoulders, her restricted breathing, the way her fingers dug into the table – Isabelle was reading something.
Jay filled the President in. "We have a target for the bomb, Camp Justice."
"Outside of Baghdad?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes." Jay said. "That fits into enough time span for the uranium to be converted into the radioactive powder or pellets, transferred from the arsenal, and assembled."
Isabelle's focus returned to the feed on her phone.
Where she could make out some sort of distress in the room.
From the chaos coming through the earpiece, Emma knew things weren't calm anywhere. At least she wasn't the only person out of her element.
"Remembering the time of day that the planes landed and took of was a big help, Amira." Emma said, watching the girl closely.
What had seemed to be discomfort at sitting a bit too long now seemed to be somewhat painful for Amira. Her face was pulled tight, and she grimaced each time she moved. Her fists were clenched.
And Emma asked her, "Amira, are you ok?"
The girl drew in a breath. Sharp. And she said, "It's just where I had surgery a few weeks ago." The words were quiet.
"For what?" Emma asked.
And her own experience with a surgical procedure in captivity bubbled up inside her. The utter pain. No painkillers. Mangled flesh and bones. She swallowed hard, willing her eyes to focus on Amira.
"Oh, the doctor said I had an infection and needed to cut it out."
Doctor.
"There was a doctor there?" Emma asked skeptically.
Amira nodded, squinting her eyes in pain for a second before she said, "Yeah. It wasn't painful. I got to sleep through it."
Anesthetic? Doctor? Emma tried to put the pieces together. Her mind was running around the questions.
Seeing how much pain the girl was in, Emma asked, "Do you want me to look at it?"
Amira at first shook her head, but then yelped in pain.
Emma stood up, willing her fingers to stay still. "I just want to make sure it wasn't injured from when we…" She just wanted to see – something wasn't adding up.
In what world would a madman, who killed seven women and children in the compound before he felt, orchestrated a bombing on a school, and was more than likely in the middle of planning another bombing that they were trying to avoid – what man like that brought a doctor into the compound, equipped with anesthetics?
Apparently, the pain Amira was experiencing was enough that she pulled her hijab towards her neck from her back. Even just that movement caused the girl to draw in yet another sharp breath. With skills from years of buttoning and unbuttoning the kinds of dresses that Amira was wearing, Emma, while maintaining as much modesty for Amira, lightly pulled one side of the back of the dress down the right side of her shoulder.
And Emma forced herself to stay calm.
Red venomous tendrils extended from the base of the shoulder blade up around to the top of the shoulder. And down, it extended down to where her ribs were.
Gathering her voice, Emma asked, "How long have you been feeling in pain?"
Amira breathlessly whispered, "Honestly, like… the last hour or so."
"You didn't notice it warm to the touch or anything before this?"
"No." Amira said, then, concerned, she asked, "Is something wrong?"
Unwilling to alarm the girl when Emma had no idea what was wrong.
And she heard Mike's voice over the earpiece, "What's wrong?"
She wanted to slap him. It wasn't like she could just explain it there in English. But she had a better idea.
"Maybe it'll feel better if you stand up and move a bit." She suggested. When Amira agreed, Emma helped her to her feet.
The sudden cries of pain were great, and Emma watched her back grow into deeper red. Then she helped Emma turn around, pretending to have her stretch. Hoping that the feed would pick up the problems.
And Mike's voice came over the earpiece, "Holy shit. That wasn't there yesterday."
It wasn't infection. At least no infection Emma had ever seen. Not to get this bad in an hour.
And then Isabelle, "What is that?"
Holding her phone up close, Isabelle was focused on the horrifically red streaks on Amira's back. She'd seen the intake paperwork. This had not been anything. Simply an older scar had been recorded. Nothing more than some of the scars that Emma had on her arms.
This was.
"We've got agents on the ground with the body."
Isabelle looked up at the feed showing men in hazmat suits and scanners. She didn't know where to look.
While the comparison between the two seemed eerie, Amira had been in custody before the uranium had been stolen. She told herself. Willing her hands to stop shaking. Praying they'd find that the bomb was inside the dead man instead of still somewhere still unaccounted for.
"High levels of uranium poisoning."
Everyone held their breath.
And then another report came through, that Gordon quietly revealed. "There's traces of components for a pre-determined target point."
Everyone in the room, except Ellen, looked confused and questioning at him.
Ellen explained, shifting in her seat. "It's pretty much what it sounds like, but without the need for high-tech system. A home base is set up, small, maybe the size of a rock, and the missile launches and finds that target."
"It's used normally with small-range missiles." Gordon said, pausing as he listened to the report from the men on the ground. "The components are confirmed."
"Do we have any timeframe?" Elizabeth asked. "Any way to know at all?"
Gordon explained, "Ma'am, from the level of radiation poisoning with the body here on the ground, we can calculate approximately… with the level of decomp and the half-life of when the uranium was moved into pellets…" He waited again, "Not long. Could be half hour, could be five minutes.
Isabelle watched as Elizabeth leaned forward and asked for clarification, "So, we have a bomb that's composed of uranium and will fire towards wherever the target is, but we have no idea where this target is?"
The room was somber. "No ma'am. We do not."
And Isabelle looked at the feed on her phone.
Her heart sunk.
